


Of Pineapple Juice and Gypsy Magic

by AndraB74



Category: La casa de papel | Money Heist (TV)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Even when Nairobi is on the bottom she's on top, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Nairobi lives, Pregnancy, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-30
Updated: 2020-07-30
Packaged: 2021-03-05 19:54:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25610908
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AndraB74/pseuds/AndraB74
Summary: Literally just Nairobi/Bogota trying-to-conceive morning sex fluff. Because they’re adorable and this ship needs more love here.
Relationships: Bogotá/Nairobi | Ágata Jiménez
Comments: 9
Kudos: 17





	Of Pineapple Juice and Gypsy Magic

_“I’m going to kill you, mil leches.”_

_Nairobi tries to warn them, tries to tell them what’s about to happen, tries to tell them that he’s going to kill them all, but it’s like her voice doesn’t work._

_And then bullets, an army of bullets. They’re falling down, choking on their own blood., and she’s forced to watch, as if in slow motion, as bullets rain on her friends. Helsinki falls, eyes glassy and unseeing, and then Tokyo sputters and keels over. Bogota is running towards the fire and she can’t do anything, she can’t make him understand, she needs him to stay with her, and then suddenly the fire turns on her, the bullet connects with her forehead –_

Nairobi woke with a start, her heart beating a little too fast.

But as the room came into focus, she felt a familiar pang of relief. A breeze from the ocean wafted in through the screen door that led onto the balcony, the airy bedroom illuminated by the dim light of the early morning. The only sounds were the distant crashing of the waves and the steady breathing of the large man sleeping beside her.

She’d had another nightmare. They’d been getting less frequent the past few months – at one point, shortly after their escape from the bank nearly six months ago, the nightmares had been almost daily. As they had settled into their new lives, the nightmares had slowly ebbed away – but this one had been particularly vivid, and for some reason she felt unusually shaken by it.

Though the dimness of the light filtering into the room indicated that it was still very early in the morning, Nairobi turned to the man beside her and shook him awake. “Bogota,” she whispered.

He didn’t move, his breathing unaltered.

Nairobi shook him harder. “ _Bogota_.”

He grunted.

“I had a nightmare, _mi amor_.”

His eyes peaked open, and he turned to her. “What’s wrong, _bonita_?”

Nairobi curled into him, and he slipped an arm around her, pulling her head onto his chest. “We were back in the bank,” she whispered. “Gandia opened fire on everyone. Helsinki and Tokyo were dying. And you were running towards him and I knew he was about to shoot you, too, but I couldn’t stop it.”

Bogota tightened his grip around her and kissed her forehead. “Well, I’m right here,” he murmured. “And Helsinki and Tokyo are right down the beach. And Gandia’s been dead for more than six months.”

Nairobi nodded, relaxing into him, comforted, not for the first time, by the feeling of his arm around her.

They lay like that for a while. Soon Bogota’s breathing steadied once again as he fell back into sleep.

But Nairobi felt restless. She couldn’t return to sleep, so eventually she gave up trying.

“Bogota,” she whispered again, poking him.

He mumbled something sleepily, but didn’t move.

Nairobi pulled the covers off him and climbed on top of him, straddling him. Then she leaned over, so that her face was hovering over his. “Bogota.”

His eyes crinkled as they peaked open. “Jesus Christ,” he mumbled in surprise when he saw Nairobi’s face an inch away from his. “What is it, _jefa_?” he asked, stirring, bringing his arms up to pull her down onto him for a kiss.

He’d clearly intended it as an affectionate peck, but Nairobi caught his mouth in hers and kissed him deeply, rocking her hips in time with the movement of their mouths, until she could feel him hardening beneath her.

Bogota chuckled into her mouth. “You couldn’t have waited until I woke up for this?” he asked her, but his eyes were smiling.

“Do you want me to stop?” Nairobi asked, halting her movements. “Because I can stop.” She let herself fall back to the bed beside him, turning away teasingly. “Wouldn’t want to bother you, _mi amor_. You go back to sleep.”

He leaned over her, rolling her back towards him. “Get back here,” he said, grinning.

She arched her brows teasingly, a smile playing on her lips. “Oh, so you _are_ in the mood.”

He laughed, kissing her and slipping a hand underneath the satin nightie she slept in to massage her breasts.

Nairobi hummed softly, closing her eyes lightly to enjoy the sensation as he fondled her. Then his hand crept down between her legs and started stroking her gently.

“Mmm,” she murmured appreciatively. Six months of practice had made him very good at this. Nairobi had never been shy about letting him know what she liked, and now he worked her with expertise, rubbing fine circles around her clit. His fingers were large and rough – he had strong hands, worker’s hands. Those hands could break a grown man in two, but now they worked with delicacy, stroking her.

A finger slid inside her and Nairobi moaned, her whole body lighting up as he worked her, curling his finger inside her and moving it deftly, skillfully, twisting it in such a way that it felt like her whole body was twisting with him.

“Oh god,” she gasped, as she felt her body tensing. “Don’t stop.”

He didn’t – he simply leaned down to kiss her neck, keeping a steady pressure as he curled one finger inside her and continued rubbing her clit, harder now, faster, bringing her closer and closer to the edge. Nairobi could feel the pleasure building inside her, like a dam needing to be released, and when she finally came, her body surrendering as she dropped her head back and her insides spasmed, she gasped.

“Okay, stop,” she told him breathlessly, as her muscles relaxed.

He leaned over and peppered her with kisses, and she smiled softly as she wound her arms around him, pulling him towards her.

“I have a feeling today’s the day,” Nairobi told him, looking up at him and meeting his eyes.

“Hmm?” Bogota asked, gazing at her tenderly.

“For Ibiza,” Nairobi clarified. They had started trying to conceive two months ago, as soon as Bogota had come around to the idea that Nairobi actually truly did want to raise a family with him, and wasn’t just acting on some gratitude or adrenaline or morphine-induced impulse. Though Nairobi had once held him at arm’s length, skeptical of his philandering ways, he’d proven himself to be a soft, steady presence in her life, caring and supportive of her in a way no man had ever been, and surprisingly willing to let her lead him.

Or, as Palermo so eloquently put it, he was “completely fucking whipped.”

Bogota smiled. “I think we may as well give it a shot,” he said.

They kissed, and then Nairobi slipped out of her nightie while Bogota pulled down his boxers.

Bogota laid down on the bed and pulled her towards him, but Nairobi wriggled away.

“Wait,” she said. She dug in her nightstand for the rose quartz bracelet she’d been wearing religiously ever since they’d started trying to conceive.

Bogota didn’t say anything as she put the bracelet on, but she knew he didn’t believe the quartz was doing anything. “That’s some gypsy shit,” he had told her when she had gotten the bracelet, shaking his head.

Nairobi had then treated him to an impassioned lecture on gypsy folklore and cultural history, after which he had shut his mouth and stopped questioning any of the dozen or so superstitions that she was adamantly following in order to get herself pregnant. He bought her pineapple juice and Brazil nuts and made her tea with cinnamon and honey, and had even rearranged the furniture in their bedroom for her after she had decided that the energy in the room was off. And then there was the sex.

“You need to be on top,” she instructed him. It was better for the flow of sperm, or at least, that’s what she’d heard.

“Tell me where to go,” he said obediently.

“It’s best if you stand,” she told him, arranging herself flat on her back at the side of the bed.

He gave her a small salute and got out of the bed, standing between her and holding her thighs.

“Is this good, _jefa_?” he asked her, a smile playing on his lips as he dangled himself over her.

She wrapped her legs around him, pulling him towards her. “Oh, get in here,” she said, smiling at him affectionately.

He pushed into her and Nairobi arched her back, moving her hips to meet him.

He thrusted steadily, reaching a rhythm punctuated by soft groans. Nairobi pulled him deeper into her by wrapping her legs around him.

“That’s it,” she breathed. “That’s it.”

They moved together, neither of them leading nor following, but instead building on each other’s movements. He pushed and she pulled, he leaned forward and she rocked backward, the rhythm building steadily as the pace increased.

Nairobi could feel herself nearing the edge again, and she brought a hand down to touch herself as Bogota continued thrusting. Soon her body clenched as she reached a second, shaking orgasm.

“Don’t stop,” she begged, as his movements sent her over the edge, succumbing to white-hot burning pleasure that seemed to ripple through her body endlessly. She felt sweat accumulating on her forehead as she shook, and then she cried out as she came.

And then Bogota jerked and groaned as well, releasing himself inside her.

Nairobi sank back onto the mattress, breathing raggedly, reveling in the sensations. She kept her legs in the air as Bogota lay down on the bed next to her, trying to ensure that every drop of him trickled down deep inside her.

Then Bogota pulled her towards him, grinning that big, stupid grin he always had right after sex. He brought a hand down to lovingly squeeze her ass.

“I think that was it,” Nairobi told him seriously, turning to him and laying a hand across her stomach. “I think you did it.”

He laughed, pulling her into his big arms and curling his body around hers, and for several minutes, they just laid together, sated and relaxed. Nairobi closed her eyes, shifting closer into his body, thinking how different life was when someone had your back.

“How are you feeling, _bonita_?” Bogota murmured.

“Mm,” Nairobi exhaled, trying to find the right word to describe how she felt. She smiled, turning towards him. “Perfect, _mi amor_.”

And then she curled up and slowly drifted back to sleep, completely free of nightmares.

When she woke three hours later, Bogota had left the bed already, and the sound of Latin music and the smell of chorizo were wafting in through the open bedroom door.

Nairobi tossed on a dressing gown and padded downstairs, where she found Bogota dancing, his back to her, while he cooked eggs and chorizo.

Nairobi watched him dancing for several minutes without saying a word. When he finally turned and saw her, she raised her eyebrows.

But one of the many wonderful things about Bogota was that the man didn’t seem to understand embarrassment as an emotion. He just grinned back.

“Good morning, sleeping beauty,” he told her. “I made you a tray.”

Nairobi looked at the tray he had assembled on the table.

“There’s pineapple juice,” he said, pointing at the first glass. “Then that one is ginger tea with honey and lemon,” he pointed at a steaming mug. “This one is those, uh, ah-kee berries you asked for,” he said, mispronouncing acai, “and over here you have your walnuts, your figs, your sunflower seeds, and that uh,” he snapped his fingers, “that Korean shit you said you wanted.”

Nairobi beamed at him, recognizing all of the foods she’d requested to increase her chances of conceiving.

“And the chorizo?” Nairobi asked.

He shrugged. “That’s for me. Nothing like trying to father a child to work up an appetite.”

When Bogota finished cooking, they carried the trays out to the terrace, where they sat and ate their breakfast overlooking the rolling turquoise ocean. 

“I think it took,” Nairobi said thoughtfully as she ate her berries and nuts.

“Hm?” Bogota asked, chewing.

“I feel it. I feel different. I think Ibiza’s in there,” she explained. Then, seeing the skeptical look on his face, she wagged a finger insistently. “It’s gypsy magic, I swear,” she said seriously. “We can tell. My mother always said she could tell as soon as she was pregnant, and she did it five times. And I could tell with Axel.”

Bogota shook his head. “Gypsy shit,” he said.

“Watch it,” Nairobi warned him teasingly. “You’re going to have a little gypsy baby. Have some respect, ay?”

“ _Si, jefa_ ,” he said, shaking his head.

Nairobi nodded in approval.

“But don’t forget, she’s half Armenian,” he reminded her, gesturing towards Nairobi’s stomach.

Nairobi waved her hand. “Of course,” she agreed. Then she realized what he’d just said. “You believe me,” she said triumphantly.

Bogota laughed. “I can’t argue with gypsy magic.”

**

Two weeks later, Bogota was sitting in their kitchen drinking a coffee and watching the Spanish news in his bathrobe.

He heard Nairobi come in behind him, but didn’t look away from the television, where images of a crowd of reporters and onlookers outside the Hague were punctuated by talking heads and images of a short, angry-looking man.

“I made you a coffee, _beb_ _é_ ,” he told Nairobi, motioning towards the counter. Then he gestured at the screen. “Tamayo’s trial starts today,” he told her. The news reel showed Tamayo being walked up the stairs, the caption at the bottom of the screen reading “ _Colonel Tamayo: Torturer? ICC to Decide._ ”

“Bogota,” Nairobi said behind him, and there was something funny in her voice.

He turned to look at her.

She was wearing a soft dressing gown over her nightie, and her hands were behind her back. She looked excited – more excited than he would have expected Tamayo’s trial would make her.

“What is it, _bonita_?” he asked her.

Then her face broke into a wide smile, and she held a thin white object out to him, hurrying to him to show him what it was. As he looked at the crossed lines, it took a moment for it to sink in.

Then when he did, it was as if everything stopped for a moment. “Really?” he asked, awestruck.

And then she nodded, and she was crying, and she flung her arms around him with such force that he nearly fell off his chair.

“We’re having a baby!” she cried, hugging him tightly. “We’re having a baby!”

Bogota had had some iteration of this conversation seven times in his life, but never before had it felt like this. In the past, the women had called him up, anxious, unsure of how he would react to the news of an unplanned child. That he had expressed support for the pregnancy and offered to be a part of their child’s life at _all_ had seemed to them – and to him – like accepting responsibility.

But this was something different. He felt his chest swell pride as he gathered Nairobi in his arms, pulling her onto his lap, and he knew that this time, he was going to do things right.

Then she smiled teasingly, her eyes sparkling. “You know,” she said, “Just because I’m already pregnant doesn’t mean we can’t keep having fun trying.”

“Mm?” murmured Bogota. “What did you have in mind?”

Nairobi just kissed him. And five minutes later, they were having sex on the kitchen floor – and this time, Nairobi was on top.

After they both finished, Nairobi lay on the floor and, sighing happily, requested a glass of pineapple juice.

“It won’t do anything if you’re already pregnant,” Bogota pointed out.

Nairobi shrugged. “I’m just craving pineapple juice. Maybe it’s the hormones.”

And Bogota groaned, realizing that she was only getting started.

**Author's Note:**

> If you enjoyed, please comment to let me know!


End file.
